The Compass Rose
by FaylinnNorse
Summary: Cursed by the sirens, he was revered as the most dreaded pirate in the seven seas. They never meant to have anything to do with him, but a chance encounter with a compass rose could lead to a deadly exchange. Beauty and the Beast, with pirates!
1. Prologue

Well, here I am starting another story. I didn't abandon my others, I promise! I wasn't going to start this until I finished something, but I don't currently have my others with me and I was feeling inspired so...here it is! As to why I'm writing a Beauty and the Beast story with pirates, well...it had it coming. And I have lately acquired a bit of an obsession with sailing and pirates and such. So enjoy!

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_Prologue_

A soft wind shuddered over the waters, rippling in darker waves across the pale blue surface. Abruptly it stopped, dying out as a flame doused with water as it reached a veil of mist, hovering in a wide circle over the open sea. It was quiet, still and thick, like a curtain drawn closed, blocking out a scene not meant for prying eyes.

A white, incandescent moon shone from above, penetrating into the wall of mist in one streak of luminescent light. All it found there was nothing. Nothing but more water and more sea, though an eerie silence seemed to rest over the place. There were no sounds of waves splashing or of gulls still sweeping over the twilight laden ocean in their search for fish to quench a never ceasing hunger. There was only quiet, deafening quiet.

The water stirred. First a slight bubbling, then a loud splash as a figure emerged, bursting out of the water, throwing back a net of pale, silvery wet hair, leaving exposed a shapely figure of smooth, nearly translucent skin. She glanced around her, her wide eyes wandering slowly over the flat water and through the mist that shrouded all sight, though she seemed to look through it to lay beyond. A smile curled onto her perfect lips, a smile so sweet, but danger lurked behind her dark, glinting blue eyes.

Beside her, there were two more splashes as water sprang upward and two more beings rose from the water on either side of her. They were as beautiful as she; their hair, one black as night and the other white as the glowing moon, fell down their sides, framing their faces, then billowing out, surrounding them as it flowed out, resting atop the shimmering water

"Will he come?" the dark-haired one turned her head gracefully towards the center, questioning in a voice that rang of the sea, yet it was barely above a whisper, the first sound since the splash of their rise to the surface.

The white-haired turned as well, doubt displayed clearly on her delicate features.

"He'll come," the first answered assuredly without glancing at either. "I can feel it. He is drawn to me. He is marked."

The others said no more and she smiled again to herself. Yes, he would come. He belonged to her now. The thoughts were sweet in her mind, like honey to a bee, irresistible. She had his heart and his mind, and soon enough he would grow weak and then, then she would have his soul. Until then she would wait.

All around there were splashes as water sprang up from the sea and with it her sisters, the sirens, come to gain their souls at last. Finally the splashes quieted and the sea was still again. They waited silently, not speaking, not moving, barely even breathing. They were scattered all through the mist in a formation of lines, staring aloofly ahead, each beautiful and each deadly.

The calm was shattered with the blare of cannons being shot and propelled into something, of wood splintering into pieces, of men screaming for their lives.

The silver-haired closed her eyes, seeing the scene in her mind. _Two ships, one small, narrow, it wouldn't withstand the fight; the other much larger and firing at the other—hard. A galleon, his ship. Yes, he'd come at last._

She opened her eyes and the scene was in front of her. The ships had entered into the mist, though they were still some ways away. Their outlines could be seen, dark, against the silvery-grey mist that seemed to swirl with figures of fancy dancing through it. The ships moved closer. They could be seen clearly now. The smaller was shrouded in smoke and fire. The other's cannons were out and were blasting into the smaller. The unfortunate ship had nowhere to go but straight to them, the sirens. They were waiting for them.

There was a lull in the noise. The cannons had stopped. The smaller ship knew it was lost; it would soon start sinking and they would be lost. The sirens glanced at each other. Now was their time.

They all looked forward again, raising their heads high into the air, taking a deep breath and opening their mouths. The song that followed was sweet and enchanting, harmonious and captivating. It was the song of the sea, of the deep, of all that had pulled on the hearts of these sailors to lead them to their ships and to the high waves of the sea. It was the song of everything they loved, everything they cared for, their own personal freedom emanated in the form of fair maidens singing sweetly to them, calming them in their panic of death.

The sailors soon appeared on the smaller ship. The smoke was clearing and they came, one and all, to behold the enticing creatures with their voices like angels. They appeared on the deck, practically hanging over the rail, trying to gain a better view of these beautiful creatures.

The sirens swam closer, gliding through the water as birds through the air, til they were almost directly beneath the ship, singing their sweet serenade all the while.

The first, the silver-haired, watched her sisters float past her, but she did not follow. She could wait for her soul. Instead she swam to the other vessel. She waited beneath it, just where he would be able to see her best. She sang solo now, apart from her sisters, a different song, a song of love, to remind him of his love for her, of her love for him.

He came finally, pacing across the deck to her, his brows etched in a deep frown. A black bandanna was tied around his head, nearly matching his unruly dark hair, and a round, black eye patch covered his right eye. She knew why.

"You sing lies!" he accused loudly, pounding his tan hands onto the rail and leaning over it slightly to glare at her all the better. "You care nothing for me. You have no heart, no _soul_."

She ceased her singing and merely gazed upward at him. "You knew that from the beginning," she said softly, simply. She watched him a moment longer, then started singing again. It had a sadder sound now, a mourning sound, just for him. A song of all he'd lost, but it could be better if he would just forget it all and come to the sea, come to her. _Come._

She watched him stare at her, watched his eyes soften, losing their hard bitterness. She gave a seductive smile and reached one hand out of the water, outstretched to him.

He leaned forward, then back, gripping the rail hard. His knuckles were turning white with the effort. One hand darted into the pocket of his coat, black, like everything else he wore. "No!" he shouted, gripping a stack of papers, holding them far above his head. "I'm not yours, you won't have my soul, not now, not ever! I listen to the song of the winds, not _your_ song."

She settled back into the water, slightly disappointed, but she had known he wouldn't come. Not yet. "Guard them carefully, then," she spoke. "Each one you lose brings you closer to me."

There were splashes nearby as her sisters' song continued. She glanced at the other ship. The sailors were in a trance and practically leaping off the ship to be with her sisters. They would follow them into the deep no doubt, and there they would die, gasping for air, with none to be found. They would know better than to follow a siren, but it would be too late. Her sisters would get what they wanted. She turned away from the galleon, ready to return to the depths, until another time.

"Céleste, wait!"

She glanced backward, amused that he still called her that, the name she'd given him when she'd met him first, when he'd been so entranced with her. It wasn't her real name. She had no name, no soul, he'd said so himself. She was Siren. That was all.

"Is there anything, anything at all that can free me?"

She studied him for a moment. He was so headstrong, so desperate. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost, but not. Did he really think she would give him an answer? It would be folly, to tell him how to get out of her own curse. He couldn't have expected an answer, but she would surprise. "Find the ninth true wind, to complete your compass rose."

She watched the confusion grow on his face, before flicking her strong fin and diving back down, down to her home in the deep dark.


	2. Chapter 1

First chapter, enjoy! And thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter, I really appreciate it! Feel free to do so again :D Oh, and I did my editing pretty fast so if there's mistakes, please point them out!

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_Chapter 1_

The ship was getting closer by the minute. However, it appeared there would be very little use in robbing it. Morgen sighed, toying with images of firing cannons and ear-blasting booms, herself swinging heroically on board the other ship with her pistol in hand, ready to fight to the death with anyone that would stand in her way. It appeared it had already happened, though not by her.

The fore and aft masts were completely shot. One floated in the water, bobbing up and down in the blue waves near the stern of the ship, and the other was nowhere to be seen. The mainmast was still somewhat attached, but extended at a precarious angle over the bow, ready to topple over at any moment.

Morgen turned slightly, pressing the spyglass tighter to her eye. She could see the ship was sinking; the deck was at least ten inches underwater already, and getting lower. The torn sails drifted above it, flowing almost eerily on the rippling water. There was a flag there, too, red cross with white against the blue. Brits.

Couldn't have been the Navy then, had to have been pirates. It was always pirates. There were a very few number of ships sailing in this wide, unremarkable part of the sea, but nearly everyone they met were pirates. It was almost annoying, really. They were always running into each other when they meant to be going after merchant ships, and there were never enough of those to go around. They always ended up attacking each other instead. She always felt a small bit of betrayal on firing at other pirates, but such feelings were easily cured with a few cannon shots blowing up at your feet. She let her hand fall to her side, along with the spyglass, which she tucked it into her belt, next to her right-hand pistol. She glanced downward for a moment, through the rigging and intricate knots, down below. Everyone was racing about, preparing for a good raid. She'd have to tell Captain, and soon.

She glanced at the battle-torn ship again and raised her hand flat to her forehead, then thrust it into the air, in a salute to whoever had done it. It should have been her, but by golly, whoever they were, they'd done a good job of it! No men left on board...no men? She turned quickly and yanked the spyglass out of her belt, finding the ship once more.

It was true, there were no sailors on board the ship, no one desperately trying to bail out the water and make for land; it was just sinking. There weren't even any bodies. It would have made more sense if the ship had just hit a hard storm, but she could clearly make out the cannon blasts and charred wood. There had definitely been a battle.

She dropped the spyglass to her belt again, bringing her fingers to her lips and chewing on the ends of her nails, a slight frown wrinkling her dark brows. Pirates didn't take prisoners. What was the use unless they could get you more money? There was always ransom, but they'd have to be important people then, and important people didn't travel on merchant ships, and this was clearly a merchant ship. They could have been rescued, but she doubted it.

She weighed through the various possible reasons for the sailors' mysterious disappearance and eventually came to the conclusion that it would make the most sense if they'd simply all swam away. Except that it made no sense. She glanced at the sinking ship again, thinking of the sailors. They would have been choosing between staying on a sinking ship and drowning or swimming away and likely drowning there as well. Not much of a choice really, just drowning. If it was her decision...she'd grab hold of the broken mast and swim away. Maybe that would save her...for a while. Or just prolong her suffering.

She put her hand on the mast, preparing to climb down, only to have it ripped away as the ship lurched to the right, bobbing in a huge ocean wave. The barrel of a crow's nest swung hazardously away from the mast. Morgen glanced at the ropes holding it up. They were thin and frayed from overuse and weathering. She _really_ needed to convince Captain to get a real crow's nest, instead of simply tying a barrel to the mast, or at the very least, to get some new rope.

She glanced downward. It suddenly looked like a very long way to fall. There was a weak point in the rope that held up the barrel, nearly just above her head. A strand slipped away from the others, becoming unmeshed with the rest of the rope. Another followed, then another, and one by one the rope slowly unraveled.

Morgen felt like the world was slowing down and coming to a distinct halt. Until the rope got down to the last strand. Then it seemed to suddenly be trying to catch up with itself, and she couldn't do anything fast enough. She darted to the side of the barrel, thrusting her arms outward and trying to catch hold of something—anything.

She was too late. The rope snapped, and for a minute she was floating. Then she was crashing through sail and rigging alike, while trying to maintain as few bruises and possible. She managed to grab onto the foot of the mainsail as she heard the barrel clatter onto the deck beneath her. So much for that crow's nest. She hung for a moment, just breathing, before letting go and dropping to her feet on the deck. She was immensely glad to feel the sturdy wooden planks beneath her feet, but also rather proud of herself for her heroics, even if they consisted of doing very little and nearly breaking her neck in the process. That was enough, anyhow.

Enough for a widespread story of how she managed to cheat death yet again, battling an arrogant...duke who idiotically cut the ropes while they were both in the crows nest. She battled him through the air as they tore through the sails, and she at last stabbed him with her cutlass just in time to save herself before she would have smacked into the deck and died! It was close enough to the real tale, she'd just have to save it for the taverns.

"Hey, Mor!"

She forced her thoughts away from her story and glanced up to see Trev standing in front of her. His mop of blonde hair looked very disheveled and his eyes were slightly glossy. He grinned at her, rather too widely.

"Hello, Trev," she replied at last. "You look drunk."

"Nah, I couldn't be!" he slurred. He reached inside his coat pocket and produced a black wineskin. He removed the stopper and turned it upside down. "See, the rum's all gone already."

Morgen gave him a sideways smile. "Exactly, Trev, exactly." She quickly looked past him at Captain, who was standing near the bowsprit, scowling at the ship they were approaching. He had to have seen the broken masts by now. She stepped towards them, kicking at something in her way. The barrel. "Trev, clean that up!" she ordered.

He glowered at her. "I'm the Master Gunner, not a deckhand! You clean it up!"

"I'm Mate!" she shouted back at him. _She_ certainly wasn't going to work like a deckhand when she had something important to tell Captain.

"Of _one_ week!" he argued.

She frowned at him, marveling at the man's ability to reason when he was at least half drunk. "Well, it's not my fault Captain didn't even decide to have a Mate until one week ago!"

He was still glaring at her.

"Fine, tell one of the deckhands to do it," she gave in, kicking the barrel out of her way and watching it roll to the starboard side, before continuing on her way across the deck.

She walked across the deck, past the various men doing their various jobs, glancing overboard where the blue waves were intermixed with white foam as they crashed tumultuously over the surface. She liked the sea, and she liked the wind, blowing back her dark tangles of hair. It made her feel pretty, though she wouldn't admit such a thing to anyone else, of course. Except maybe Jonas. He might understand, but the rest of them would just laugh at her.

"Morgen!"

Speak of the devil, there he was now. She kept walking, making him jog to catch up to her, and eventually he fell instep beside her. "Hello, Jonas," she said, smiling at him.

He looked slightly winded, with his round spectacles practically falling off the edge of his nose. "I saw you fall," he began.

"Good, maybe you can convince Captain to get new rope. Tell him what you were telling me about the...salt and...freezing and all that," she replied.

They walked past the helm and she held out her left hand, letting it rest on the big wheel, feeling the smooth wood and envisioning herself as the captain of a grand ship. A galleon maybe, or a sloop. Sloops really weren't all that grand but they were fast, and she'd certainly need speed in her many adventures of outrunning the British navy just in time to save her neck and the necks of her crew.

"Weathering," Jonas was saying. "It's especially bad here at sea, with all the salt. It corrodes everything, and it deteriorates the properties of the material. With anything metal, the oxidation will weaken the iron and it'll rust. With wood, though it warps it and shrinks it, because of the..."

Morgen smiled, glancing at him as he rambled on. She never completely listened to his rambling, but she rather liked hearing him talk about all these things she didn't understand that he seemed so excited about. She figured he might as well tell someone, since his career as a scholar was not looking so plausible now, after many acts of piracy.

At last, they were approaching Captain Channing. He was still in the same place, watching the merchant ship with a curious frown.

"Hullo, Cap'n!" Morgen said, leaning back against the rail next to him. "Did'ya see my stunt?"

"Morgen, just the person I was looking for," the older man said, ignoring her question and turning towards her. "What did you see from the crow's nest?"

"Well, for starters, Captain, the crow's nest is no more. You need new rope, I could've died! Jonas will tell you."

Captain Channing frowned, wrinkling his gray brows as he turned to Jonas, looking confused.

"She's right, Sir, the effect the salt is having on the rope, which wasn't even new when you...tore it of that Navy ship, well, it's just not seaworthy. See, the—"

The Captain's frown seemed to deepen as Jonas talked, until he finally blew up. "I don't want to hear about rope right now!" he bellowed. "What about the ship?"

"Sorry, sir," Jonas muttered.

"They've already been attacked," Morgen answered. "It must've been pirates, but it was strange. There weren't any men left and no bodies either. Just an empty ship."

"Were the lifeboats there?"

"Aye, sir, both of them."

He frowned. "A'right...you two can go on board, see if you see anything."

They both nodded.

"The rest of ya, pull up on the port side!" he hollered out the orders. "Keep the cannons out, just in case! It could be a trick, for all we know! Be prepared for anything!" With that he stomped away, to see that it was done as he said.

"Well, this should be fun," Morgen said with a grin towards Jonas.

Jonas frowned slightly. "I suppose, if you call walking around in a sinking ship fun," he said dubiously.

Morgen laughed. "Oh, come on, it has to be better than sitting in Captain's cabin pouring over all those maps and charting us a route."

"Actually, I enjoy that. It's fascinating how accurately the world has been charted, and yet so much remains unknown. The world is just so...big, you know? There's so much to see, so many places we could go, charting a route is...it's like, planning destiny. I mean, just deciding which course would be best is...amazing! And looking at the blank parts and thinking about what we could find there..."

Morgen smiled. She knew what he meant. "I'm afraid I can't argue about that," she replied. "I like maps. And compasses. I like just watching the needle swing around until it finally finds north. I like looking at the directions and just wondering what's out there."

Jonas nodded in understanding.

She was silent, feeling the moment, wondering for herself what _was_ out there, breathing in the salt and the sea, and remembering why she loved it so much. It was freedom.

They had now come up against the side of the merchant ship. It was a site to behold, and much more striking up close than it had been from the crow's nest. Every blast from the cannon was visible, every hole and every crack, the broken and jagged masts, everything. Morgen could see the name on the side of the ship, but she couldn't read it. She recognized the E that was in her own name that Jonas had taught her to write, but she didn't know the rest of the letters.

"_Her Lady's Luck_," Jonas read. "Not so lucky after all."

She glanced at him, feeling the dismalness of it all. She looked back at the nearly destroyed ship. It could have been them.

"Well, go aboard," Captain Channing said, coming up behind them, and handing Morgen a rope. "Swing over."

She nodded, taking the rough rope in her hand. She planted her boot firmly on the rail and put her weight on it, stepping up, then jumping off and swinging onto the deck of the merchant. She landed with a splash, up to the bottom of her calves in water. She glanced around at the half floating sails before dropping the rope and watching it swing back to the schooner.

Jonas caught it and quickly swung aboard as well. He landed somewhat ungracefully and fell onto his knees in the water. He blinked, then got to his feet. "It's—uh—slippery there," he said, pushing his spectacles back up his nose.

Morgen smirked. "I'm sure it is. Come on, let's make this quick."

"I'm all for that," he said, coming up beside her as they began walking. "But I thought you were excited about this, exploring a half blown up sinking ship, with disappearing ghost sailors and who knows what else lurking around?"

Morgen glanced sideways at him. "I think you've been listening to a few too many of Everett's stories. And I was excited, but now, it's just kind of...melancholy, you know? It's like...they could have just as easily taken down the _Knife Thrower_ and—"

"Probably easier actually. Our schooner is a lot smaller than this merchant ship, we only have two masts and taking blasts like this," he indicated a hole in the side of the ship, "well, we'd be sinking a lot faster."

"That's not exactly comforting, Jonas," Morgen replied, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Heh, sorry," he said with a slight grin. "But I know what you mean. It's kind of...creepy here."

Morgen nodded and they continued on, sloshing through the water. They walked past the sails and the flag that she'd seen from the crow's nest, clear to the other side of the boat.

Jonas stopped behind her, leaning down to look into the water.

She kept walking a short distance away, seeing something else floating in the water. It was a small scrap of paper, with some sort of design on it. She picked it up to look at it better. It was a compass rose, but much more intricately designed than any she'd ever seen. The points were each finely tipped and colored vibrantly with deep scarlet and royal blue, intermixed with jade and purple. There were two different circles, one encircling each of the eight whole winds and the other extending out into the half winds. It seemed to be emphasizing the north wind, having it colored in pure sapphire, but it seemed to Morgen that it almost...waved, just like the sea. Staring at it was almost mesmerizing, like she could actually feel the north wind calling to her, singing to her, and twirling all around her in circles. The feeling was...incredible.

"This must lead to the hull," Jonas was saying.

Morgen glanced at him. He was on his knees and leaning into the water. His arms were tense, pulling on something. He flew backward suddenly, pulling up a grate with crossing iron bars.

Morgen crossed the distance between them quickly and glanced downward into the water where the grate had been. There were boxes down there and barrels full of things she couldn't quite see. "Hold this," she said, tossing the compass rose at Jonas, who frowned at her as he picked it up. She pulled off her coat and threw it aside, lowering herself into the hull. She took a breath and went under, diving under the surface.

She opened her eyes as she swam downward. It was dark, but she could make out the boxes holding the goods. She glanced over them quickly. There was a crate of something—silks, it looked like. She finally got low enough to touch them and pulled open one of the chests. It was full of Spanish doubloons, practically shimmering in the light from the surface. It shouldn't have been there, not if pirates had attacked, not if anyone had attacked. Anyone who had a lick of sense would have taken it.

She was starting to run out of breath now, but she wasn't quite ready to leave. She let her gaze sweep over the room again. Something was sparkling at the bottom. She wanted to know what it was. She pushed herself down into the water, forcing her way to the bottom. It was a ruby necklace, bright red, like a strawberry. She wanted it. She let her hand close around it, as her chest started to feel even tighter.

She glanced upward and swam fast towards the light, finding the opening onto the deck and grabbing hold of the edges—pulling herself into the air. She took a sharp breath, feeling the air fill her lungs, as she fell back up to her shoulders in the water. She shook her head forcibly, trying to at least partially dry her thick hair.

Jonas was sitting next to the opening, paying no mind to the water at his waist. "Morgen, this is amazing," he said, without even looking at her. "The intricacy of the design, it's—it's incredible. On the sides, if you look really closely you can see the name of each whole wind written next to it and the coloring, it's barely noticeable, but it seems to show a picture of what each wind would look like—if you could actually draw a picture of that, of course, I don't know who could, but whoever made this...it seems to emphasize the north wind, tramontana, and it—"

"Jonas!" Morgen interrupting.

He peered at her over his spectacles. "What?"

"Everything is still in there! Everything the merchant was carrying. There's crates and boxes and a chest full to the top with doubloons!"

He blinked at her. "So...?"

"So it couldn't have been pirates, and with the sailor's disappearance..."

"It is odd," Jonas conceded, frowning slightly. He was silent a moment, considering. "Well, why are you sitting in the hull?" he asked, turning his attention back to her. "Get out, before you...catch a cold, or something."

Morgen rose an eyebrow at him while pulling herself back onto the deck. She found her coat which was now thoroughly soaked, but she put it on anyways. What did it matter, if the rest of her was soaked too?

She looked at the ruby necklace in her hands. The large red stones shone on the gold chain glittering in the sunlight. It was rather gaudy looking. She liked it. She pulled it around her neck and fastened the chain quickly.

Jonas glanced at her, getting onto his own feet. "Did you take that from the hull?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes. Is there something wrong that?"

"Well, it's just—stealing from dead...disappeared people seems kind of...disturbing."

She shrugged. "I don't have a problem with it."

"Well, come on. We should show this to Captain. Did you even look at it before throwing it at me?"

"Yes!" Morgen said defensively. "I studied it for at least...five seconds. And I found it just as fascinating as you do!"

Jonas looked at her dubiously, raising his brow.

"Alright, maybe not _just_ as fascinating, but...I like it. It's...pretty," Morgen said as they started walking back across the deck.

"Pretty? Morgen, it's—it's a piece of modern science, showing each of the winds so clearly and so artistically, it's—"

"Let me see it," Morgen replied, pulling it out of his hand. She could feel it again, the hypnotism, the wind, whirling around her circles, tugging at her hair, calling to her to follow it. It felt strange and wild, but free. That _was _how tramontana was characterized, how the north in general was characterized, but Jonas seemed completely unaffected by it..

She handed it back to him, ignoring the pulling feeling. She felt rather odd about the whole thing, and didn't want to think about it anymore. "Interesting," she said with as little feeling as she could, her thoughts wandering to how she could turn this into an adventure story about herself. Perhaps she battled the ghosts of the disappeared sailors. They wanted to kill her for taking their compass rose and the ruby necklace, but she wouldn't let them. She fought the unnatural forces and—

"Why does no one understand these things but me?" Jonas was saying, shaking his head at her.

Morgen simply smirked at him.


	3. Chapter 2

Well, it's been a while, hasn't it? This story is actual kind of on hiatus, I really shouldn't have started it when I did and it's fairly like that I won't update very soon after this, but I felt oddly inspired about this chapter, so I went ahead and wrote it...it's not real long though...anyway, maybe, just maybe (and no promises!), if I get lots of nice, pretty reviews, I'll be inspired to update again! Blackmailing, I know...but if it works :D Enjoy.

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The sky hung orange, sunlight lingering on the horizon, though the sun had long since gone. The sea was dark, waves smoothed over with a glossy blackness, dark as the night, dark as his mind, dark as his heart. Or did he even have a heart now, or had she eaten that away as well, along with everything else he had, waiting only for his soul to complete her meal? 

He sighed, feeling the air slowly leave his lungs until there was none left. He waited before taking another breath, feeling his lungs tighten, his head go light, desperately willing it all to end. He closed his eyes, let darkness reign...darkness...emptiness...space...no. The thought was firm and adamant in his mind, like fists gripping onto something, gripping onto life. He wouldn't do it; he _couldn't_ do it. He took a deep breath.

He wanted to live, as much as he hated it. He opened his eyes again, looked around him. The glossy black sails, the perfectly polished wood, the flag fluttering in the breeze, wispy white hand reaching into the mouth of the skull. Oh yes, this was his ship, the dreaded_ Dark Shining_, the fiercest and most feared ship on the seven seas. Any man would die to be its Captain and die to refrain from meeting its Captain.

He knew the rumors well enough. It was almost funny, the way he could see the truth in them and understand perfectly well where they came from. Some of them were remarkably close to the truth, actually. He knew that every good pirate in the seven seas wanted to _be _him. Personally, he would give anything _not_ to be himself.

He laughed at the irony of the situation, a deep and mirthless laugh in the back of his throat. Then he spat and kicked the railing, as hard as he could. He wanted to break it, see it shatter into a million pieces. On the contrary, it had hardly any effect on the sturdy wood, leaving it just as intact as ever.

He stared at it, his hands clenched in tight fists. It was too well-made. Everything about the galleon was too well made! Why couldn't it break, for once? Why couldn't it be damaged, for once? He'd had it built that way, so nothing could breach it, especially not...her. And not him, either. It was built with rails high, sturdy, thick. It would be hard to get over those rails, so throwing himself overboard to her would be nearly impossible. He'd built his own prison.

For a moment he considered climbing up and jumping off anyway. Let her win, at least it would be over! He'd be dead and gone, no life and no soul, but it wouldn't matter any more. It would be done; he'd be over the rails out of the prison! He gripped the wood, feeling his muscles tense. He reminded himself, as calmly as he could, that he was only rebelling against himself. Jumping off was giving up, and that wasn't him. He didn't give up. He was too much of a fool to give up.

If he had given up on her when he should have, he wouldn't be in this situation. He _knew _she was a siren, he _knew_ the only thing she cared about was getting his soul, but no—he was the smartest, he was the best, he could make her love him! Stupid. Arrogant. Young. It didn't help that she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his entire life, or that her voice...

Silent, he could almost hear it, sweet, melodic, entrancing. It was like rain, like waves, waterfalls, and rainbows all at once, rushing, flowing, still. It was a wide sound, but haunting at the same time, as though it were hitting several different notes at once, each more beautiful than the others. He could fall into it and lose himself, in the sweet, sweet...

A blast of wind hit him suddenly, straight in the face, pressing his eye patch in, blowing his hair wild. It was cold and shaking to the bone, just what he needed. _ I listen to the song of the winds, not your song. _He held onto the thought, those words that he'd said to her, and listened, carefully and quietly. It was small at first, far off and distant, just a faint whistle really, but it was there. It was simpler, but better than her song; it was real, true. It had held him this far, it would keep holding him. He was alive and that calmed him.

His hand reached into his pocket and found his papers, his compass roses. He looked them over carefully. Levante, siroco, libeccio, maestro. They were each beautiful, each powerful, the most powerful things he had, in fact. But they were too few. Four, only four left out of eight. He'd lost too many of them. Now he was losing himself.

The wind blew hard at the waves; the ship bobbed up and down. Some water came up, smacked in the face, freezing and wet. He took a step back, almost involuntarily. Water...she was in the water; if he touched it...his hands were shaking; he felt ridiculous. It was just water. But if he touched it...he wouldn't touch it again.

Yet it had been cooling, calming. He...missed the water, as odd as it seemed. He couldn't go in it, not ever, not anymore. She was there and she'd find him, wherever he was. He sailed aboard the sea, but he wouldn't dare get close to it, wouldn't dare be in it, and tried as hard as possible not to ever get wet. He'd convinced himself that water was bad. It hadn't been that hard to do.

Feeling it cooling, good, though, was like...a slap in the face. He didn't want to be reminded of what he'd lost. He sailed the seas. He hated it, because it was for her, she controlled him, but in a way...in a way, he loved it as well. It was as close as he could get to what he had, before. It was his life now and he accepted it, but he didn't want it to be too similar to the life that he'd lost. He wouldn't touch it again. Not just out of fear, but out of...grief, maybe? Mourning his loss...he wouldn't dwell on it. It was too uncomfortable.

There were footsteps behind him, sharp and purposeful. Not the aimless walk of the ever-wandering deckhands. Stupid men. He didn't know who they were, didn't care. They worked for him, served him, feared him. It didn't matter. But this wasn't one of them. He turned around. "Henry," he said, nodding at his friend and giving him as much of a smile as he could muster.

The man dipped his head slightly in acknowledgment as he came to a stop beside him. "Captain."

He nearly smirked at the formalities. He'd known Henry since...forever, it seemed like. He couldn't ever remember _not _knowing Henry. They'd been boys together, caught snakes and toads and rolled around in the mud together, the way boys do. Then they'd grown up together, of course, and could discuss more important things...girls, being the main important thing, it had seemed. Then, that was when everything had changed for him, but Henry had stuck with him still.

He certainly didn't need to be called Captain, not by Henry. Surely, his best friend could call him...well...what _would _he call him? He didn't know, not anymore. His old name...it...he wasn't that anymore. He wasn't who he used to be, not with the pirating, the killings, the...her. And Henry wouldn't call him what everyone else called him, for at least that he was grateful. He heard it among his crew often enough. The Dread Seidon, the most ruthless pirate in all the seven seas. He didn't need to be called 'dread' to his face ever again, not after the things he'd seen.

Men lured into the water, drowned, they're souls eaten away, bodies floating atop the water, cold, dead, lifeless. He'd brought them there, chased them to that point, but he didn't need to be reminded of it. The sirens were the dread ones, in his mind. Whatever he did, whatever kind of monster he'd become, they were the dread ones, not him. So he was Captain. That was all.

"Well, what is it, Henry?" he asked, after a moment, glancing again at the man standing beside him. "The sails alright, the wind? Anything problems?"

The man shook his head, slowly, deliberately. "None of that, Captain, it's all fine, it's—" he dug into the right hand pocket of his brown trousers and drew out something, a bronze circle with—oh, that.

He turned away and faced the horizon again, staring outward. He was sick of the thing. At least the roses helped him hear the wind, helped turn him away from her, but _that_...it was useless. It had led them nowhere, far too many times for his liking.

"It's this, Captain," Henry was going on. "It's pointing north."

"Well, isn't that what compasses are supposed to do?" he said dismissively, with a wave of his hand.

Henry sighed and said nothing for a moment. There was silence between them, not the uncomfortable, awkward silence between strangers, but the good, calming silence between friends. "I know you don't put much stock in it," he went on at last, "but...I think tramontana_was _found."

He turned to face the man again, frowning, his voice hard. "So what if it was? Ponente was found and the compass pointed west! But it didn't matter then and it doesn't now. We'll never get it back." His voice nearly broke at the end and he cursed himself for what an idiot he sounded like. He nearly felt like breaking down, crying over the stupid compass rose, a stupid _drawing_ of a compass, for goodness' sake! But it was gone, the last one he'd lost and he could hear _her _now, more than ever.

Henry was quiet again, allowing his anger to subside. Henry was a patient man, far more patient than he was. A better man. He always had been. It didn't matter. "It's not just that it's pointing north. Sometimes—frequently now—it's spinning in circles. Not just like it doesn't know what direction to point, but _really_ spinning. Fast."

He stopped there, said nothing more, let him figure out the implications himself. He chose to ignore them. Spinning compasses, so what? That's what compasses did, it should be do to a magnetic disturbance, not..._that_. But, if it was...? No, it couldn't be. He'd searched already, everywhere. No one had heard of it, no one across the entire world! There were eight true winds, eight lines marked on the compass, and that was the way it should be. She'd probably been lying to him, so she could laugh at him later. There was no hope. But if it was...?

"If you don't mind me saying, Captain...there's no harm in going. It's better than waiting around for her to...you know."

He glanced at Henry, who was watching him carefully for a response. The man did have a point. He might as well go somewhere, do something, while he was waiting for the pains to begin, his right eye to inflame, the desire to hunt down and kill. Her desire.

He sighed. Fine, they'd do this, though he wasn't sure he could take it if it was nothing. "Well, tramontana is always north, is it not?"

Henry smiled, much more brightly than he would have thought imaginable. Henry was like that, easy to please, but level-headed, too. He always wanted to trace down the roses, though, and leave everything else behind. He supposed...he supposed it must be hard for Henry, too, only ever bringing men to their deaths. Henry wasn't a killer, wasn't wild or stupid enough to get himself into a situation where he would be forced to be one. Going on wild goose chases across the ocean, searching for extremely obscure objects, would have to be more fun, perhaps a treat even, compared to the rest.

"I'll give the orders, Captain," he was saying, and marched away across the deck again.

He sighed, turning back to the darkening horizon and hoping to high heaven that they'd find something this time, something worthwhile.


End file.
